Masks
by Neuron Black
Summary: Getting the pills was the easy part. The hard part was knowing that he was about to become yet another lurid headline, yet another untimely death.
1. Chapter 1

_I try to let it go_

 _But the echoes,_

 _The ripples,_

 _The tremors,_

 _Pile up_

 _An unbearable weight_

 _Oh, to be free._

Chapter 1

Seth exhaled heavily as he examined his appearance in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes stood out starkly on his too pale face. So far no one had noticed anything—he had worked very hard to make sure that no one cared enough to look too close—but the consequences of too little sleep for too many days were becoming difficult to hide.

He rifled through his bag for the small tube of concealer that he had purchased earlier in the week. Groaning softly, he twisted the cap off the tube, squeezed a small amount into his open palm, and began carefully dabbing it onto the discolored flesh under his eyes.

"So, you've decided to start wearing make-up now, pretty boy?" Dean's voice mocked, the words bouncing around painfully in Seth's mind.

Seth had to fight the urge to spin around. The voice was only in his head.

Suddenly Roman's face joined Dean's voice, the image's lips pressed together tightly in an expression of utter disgust.

The voice and the face crowded together, swirling around Seth's brain making him dizzy. Dropping the concealer into the sink, Seth fell into a crouch, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears trying to block out the unwelcome images. As if it wasn't bad enough that Dean and Roman were torturing him nightly in his dreams, now it seemed they were determined to haunt his waking hours as well.

Several minutes passed before Seth felt like he had regained enough control over his own mind to continue his work. With great effort, he pushed himself back into a standing position, forced his eyes open, and finished camouflaging the effects of too many sleepless nights. He straightened his shoulders and practiced his trademark arrogant smirk in the mirror. Tonight he would hide his pain from the world, just as he had done so many days and nights before.

 _Just one more day_ , he silently instructed his image in the mirror. _Just make it through one more day._ It was a mantra that he had been repeating for months now, but he was growing increasingly uncertain of just how many 'one more days' he had in him before the unbearable weight he was shouldering finally fulfilled its mission and crushed him.

xxx

Freshly showered, Seth lay down in the dark hotel room and closed his eyes. _Bang!_ _Bang, bang!_ The image of himself assaulting his brothers with a steel chair played over and over on the backs of his eyelids. His eyes sprang back open. He had already spent nearly two hours on the treadmill in the gym downstairs trying to literally run from his troubles, but exhaustion still refused to take him. He sat back up, scooted against the headboard, and pulled his knees up to his chest, too tired to even turn on the television for distraction. As he stared into the darkness, he knew that he couldn't do this any longer. He had to do something to finally take away the pain… for good.

xxx

Pills were easy to get when you were a wrestler. Seth sat on yet another anonymous hotel room bed, his head resting against the headboard, studying the bottle in his hand. It looked so innocuous. Just a plain bottle. Nothing out of the ordinary. He shook it slightly to hear the sound of pills tumbling one over the other, colliding into the container's walls. It didn't look like it contained an impending tragedy.

Seth sighed. He hated that part. That he would become yet another lurid headline, yet another untimely death. That he would be contributing to the negative stereotype that clung to the professional wrestling industry no matter how hard Vince McMahon tried to wrest it loose.

But he was just so tired. The thought of facing one more endless night or waking up to yet another joyless day was more than he could bear. He couldn't do it. He couldn't walk into yet another arena and don the mask that hid his brokenness from the world.

No one knew. Well, no one important anyway. The WWE doctors knew that he was on antidepressants, that he'd been taking them since long before he'd ever been signed by the WWE. But as long as the medicines were legally prescribed, which they were, and taken as indicated, which they dutifully had been, the doctors had no reason to confide his condition to any of Seth's higher-ups. Seth was pretty sure that not even Hunter knew that he had been struggling with depression since he was a teenager. Seth was good at masks.

Dean and Roman didn't know. They didn't even suspect. Well… maybe Dean suspected. Or had suspected back when he cared enough about Seth to notice his well-being. That was the reason Seth had to destroy the Shield. They were getting too close. His carefully constructed mask that proved to the world that he was happy and whole and normal was slipping. He couldn't keep it in place enough any more, not enough to fool two men who were around all the time. Two men who cared about him like a brother.

They were better off without him anyway. An ex-girlfriend had once told him that he ruined everything good in his life. She was right. He was like the kid who spends ages building the tallest block tower he can, just to knock it over when it was finally completed. He didn't do it on purpose, not really. He always meant for his constructions to last, yet he found his past littered with the blocks of fallen towers nonetheless.

Yes, Roman and Dean were better off without him. He had to hurt them now so he wouldn't hurt them even worse later. Day by day, month by month, Seth could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into depression's black hole. He would be damned if he dragged his brothers down with him.

It had been hard to figure out how to get rid of them, though. They loved him too much to let him just walk away. So he had found a new mask, the mask of a traitor and a sell-out. At least this mask was one he only had to wear at work.

They believed the mask was real.

Seth had made sure they believed. Feuding with Dean the first time around had been terrible but necessary. If Dean was angry enough, he wouldn't see through the cracks, wouldn't figure out what was really going on. Feuding with Dean the second time had almost killed him. He wished it had.

And that brought him back to the pills in his hand. A few quick swallows and this could all be over. He wondered if he should write a note, but what could he say? That he was sorry? It was a bit too little, too late for apologies. They wouldn't change anything. His own mother hadn't left a note, and Seth was happier for it. That way he could pretend that the overdose had been accidental, not a deliberate attempt to leave him behind.

It was funny. Dean had no trouble talking about his fucked up childhood. He made no secret of the fact that his mother had been a prostitute and a drug addict. That his childhood had been riddled with fear and neglect and pain. And that gave Dean a freedom that Seth envied.

But Seth's family did things differently. Unlike Dean, they believed in keeping secrets. They guarded their chosen facade fiercely. They were a happy, upper middle-class family, and that was all the world needed to know. After all, what could possibly be wrong in their picture-perfect lives? So what if there were many days that his mother hadn't bothered to get out of bed in the morning? So what if his dad had worked long hours and then gone drinking so that he wouldn't have to face the dreariness of his own home? So what if Seth had been lonely, terribly lonely, afraid to get too close to anyone lest they learn the truth? So what if Seth struggled with the same demons that had claimed his mother?

But they had lived in a nice house. Seth had gone to a good school. He had worn trendy clothes and owned the latest electronics. Everything was fine. And when his parents split up because his father didn't want to deal with it all anymore, at least his mom had bought him a trampoline. Because that made everything all better, right?

At least when Seth ended it, he wouldn't be leaving behind anyone who cared.

As Seth sat there, weighing the bottle in his hand, anticipating the bitter taste of pills on his tongue, a thought struck him: _He was the problem!_ Maybe if he had been different, better, more… more _something_ , his mother would have found the will to face her demons. Maybe his father would have decided that he was worth the effort of parenting alone. Maybe Dean and Roman would have hunted him down and forced him to explain himself. Maybe the truth was that Seth simply wasn't worth fighting for.

And sometime tomorrow, after his body was discovered, the whole world would finally know that truth. All of his masks would be ripped away, and he would be revealed for what he truly was: a pathetic, weak, broken man.

 _Fuck that._ Seth sat up on the bed, anger suddenly coursing through his body. He was many things, but weak was not one of them. Despite everything, he had made something of himself. He had scratched and clawed and fought his demons day after hopeless day. And every time he had fallen, he had managed to climb out of whatever hole he had found himself trapped in.

But this hole was different. He was in too deep. He had already fallen too many times. He couldn't get himself out alone. He was too exhausted to pick himself up and attempt to scale the wall one more time. Like it or not, the truth was going to soon be revealed. He couldn't hide it anymore. One way or another, his secret was coming out. And if that was the case, then he had one more thing he needed to try before he threw in the towel. It probably wouldn't work, but he had to try. He had to know for once and for all if he was worth fighting for.

Seth sat the pill bottle down on his bedside table and picked up his cell phone. With shaky fingers, he dialed the number he had long since erased but never forgotten. His pulse raced as ringing sounded in his ear. And when the voice actually answered with a gruff "Yeah?" Seth's breath hitched. His mouth moved but no words came out. Finally, after several long seconds, he found his voice. "Dean," Seth croaked, "I need your help."

It was time for the masks to finally come off.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dean was already sleeping soundly when his phone rang. He fumbled for it in the dark, unwilling to open his eyes. Once it was finally in his hand, he cracked his eyes open just enough to find the button to silence the incessant ringing. But that tiny peak was enough to see the bold print on the phone's screen declaring who had dared to disturb his sleep.

"Seth?" Dean murmured, looking at the still-ringing phone in confusion.

"Dean," Roman groaned, "turn off your damn phone."

Still half asleep, Dean swiped his thumb across the screen to accept the call. "Yeah?" he said. Dean could hear breathing on the other end but no words. Half-convinced that this was all some weird dream, Dean lifted his thumb to end the call but stopped when he heard his name.

"Dean," Seth said weakly, "I need your help."

The pain in Seth's voice had Dean sitting up in bed before he even realized that he had decided to do so. "Where are you?" he asked immediately.

A long pause followed Dean's question. Dean had already stood up, turned on the lamp, and located his jeans from the previous day before Seth finally whispered, "Room 329."

"I'll be there in five," Dean said and hung up his phone.

"What are you doing?" Roman asked, pulling his pillow over his head to protect his eyes from the light of the lamp.

"I gotta go," Dean answered while pulling on his jeans.

"Go where?" Roman demanded, squinting as he emerged from under the pillow.

"That was Seth," Dean explained as he looked around for his t-shirt. Failing to locate it on the floor, he began digging through his bag. "He needs my help."

"So?" Roman asked pointedly.

"So I'm gonna help him," Dean replied distractedly, scanning the floor for his shoes.

"You're gonna help him," Roman repeated slowly. "Have you lost your mind? You do remember what he did to us, don't you?"

"I remember," Dean answered simply, switching on the bathroom light to look for his shoes in there.

"And yet, you're gonna run to his aid in the middle of the night, no questions asked?" Roman asked incredulously.

"Yep," Dean said, smiling victoriously as he finally found his shoes lying haphazardly under the bathroom sink half-hidden by a damp towel. "That's what brothers do." He walked out of the bathroom, sat on the bed, and began to put on his shoes.

"He betrayed us!" Roman said, raising his voice. "He lost his right to be called our brother. Let him deal with his problems on his own!"

"Look, Roman," Dean answered, his voice suddenly steely, "I know I don't have as much experience with the whole family thing as you do, but it is my understanding that brothers can fight. They can hate each other and say and do horrible things to each other. But when your brother needs you, you push all that shit aside and you help him. Seth needs me, Roman, and I'm gonna be there for him."

Roman rubbed his eyes and swung his legs down to the floor. "Fine," he grunted. "Give me a minute to get dressed. I'm going with you. Who knows what kind of shit you're about to walk into."

xxx

Roman didn't say what he was thinking as he and Dean waited in the elevator. Dean already knew that he thought this was stupid and most likely a trap. There was no need to voice the thought out loud. But if Dean was determined to see this thing through, then the least Roman could do was have his back.

The elevator dinged, marking their arrival to the third floor. Roman followed Dean out the elevator door, rolling his head and shaking out his arms, mentally and physically preparing himself for whatever lay behind the door to Room 329.

Seth's room lay at the end of the short corridor, near the staircase. Dean marched up to the door, knocked twice, then stood back to wait. They didn't have to wait long. Roman heard shuffling inside the room almost immediately, and then the door opened.

"You came," Seth said softly, his eyes meeting Dean's. Then his eyes darted to Roman. "And… you came too," he added uncertainly.

Roman winced at Seth's appearance. His hair stuck out wildly. His skin looked pale and pulled, and under his eyes were dark circles. Under his ratty t-shirt and gym shorts, Seth looked thinner than usual and incredibly tired. Had he looked like this at Raw today? Surely Roman would have noticed if Seth had looked this bad earlier in the night. Right?

Seth stepped back wordlessly, allowing Dean and Roman to enter the room. Roman looked around the room carefully, checking for traps or surprise attacks but no longer really expecting to find anything. The room was meticulously neat, nothing like the messy room he and Dean had just left. Except for the comforter on the bed being a bit rumpled and three medicine bottles sitting on the bedside table, there was nothing about the room that suggested that Seth was actually staying there for the night.

Roman waited for Seth to begin telling them what was going on, but he simply stood silently by the window looking at the floor. Roman glanced at Dean who was leaning against the hotel desk, but he was remaining uncharacteristically quiet as well. As the silence continued unabated, Roman began to grow impatient.

"Well, we're here," he finally snapped. "What do you need?"

The nasty look Dean shot him surprised Roman, but still no one else spoke a word. Seth shifted his weight uncomfortably and pulled his hands through his hair, making it look even crazier. As he did so, Roman noticed something that made his stomach clench.

He strode up to Seth, grabbed his left hand, and examined it closely. The inside of Seth's wrist was marked with dozens of small cuts, some old, others very recent. Seth stood passively as Roman dropped the first hand and reached to examine the other. It too was covered in cuts.

"Seth," Roman said softly as he traced one of the scars with his thumb, "what's going on?"

Seth opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He closed his mouth and shook his head.

"It's okay," Dean said gently. "We're here for you."

Seth looked up, and his eyes locked with Dean's. Though Roman was still standing right beside Seth, holding his arm in his hand, he felt forgotten in the silent communication that was transpiring between his former teammates.

Finally Seth spoke, his eyes never leaving Dean's, "Everything just hurt so much, you know? I felt like the scars should be real."

Roman stood speechless at Seth's side, feeling totally out of his depth. He felt immense relief and gratitude when Dean took control of the situation by walking over and ushering Seth over toward the bed. Once he got Seth settled, Dean sat down beside him. Roman felt awkward, unsure of what he should be doing or where he should be sitting. He liked to think of himself as the big brother of this little group, or at least he had when they were all still together, but right now he felt totally lost. Dean took care of that as well, gesturing toward the desk chair with his head. Roman nodded, dragged the chair closer, and took a seat, waiting for Dean to make the next move.

"I know you're hurting, Seth," Dean said in a voice so gentle that Roman would have never believed that it came from him if he hadn't been there to hear it for himself. "We're here for you. Can you try to tell me what is going on? Is it a problem with drugs? With pills?" He glanced at the bottles on the bedside table.

 _So he noticed them too_ , Roman thought.

Seth shook his head. "No," he said. "Well, not yet."

"Okay," Dean said calmly. "Can you tell me about those pills then." He pointed to the nightstand.

Seth twisted his body as if to get a better view of the bottles. "The first two are supposed to keep me sane," Seth explained.

"And the third?" Dean asked.

Seth looked away then down at the floor. Roman didn't think he was going to answer but finally he did.

"The third was to make it all go away," Seth whispered, almost inaudibly.

Roman flinched. Even though all the signs had been pointing that way since they got there, it was difficult to hear it out loud.

"How long have you felt this way?" Dean asked.

Seth shrugged. "It feels like forever."

"How long have you been taking medicine? The first two I mean, the ones that keep you sane?" Dean probed carefully.

"Those particular medicines? About two years," Seth answered, looking at his hands. "But I've been on some form of anti-depressants since I was seventeen."

Roman raised his eyebrows, surprised. Seth had been taking anti-depressants the whole time they had known him? That couldn't be right. "How come I never saw you with them then?" Roman asked, the question coming out more accusatory than he had meant it to.

Again Dean shot him a dirty look, but Seth answered nonetheless. "I kept them in vitamin bottles," he explained.

Ahh, well that cleared that up then. Roman and Dean had always teased Seth about being a health nut. Who would have guessed that his numerous vitamins and supplements were partially a cover for a hidden medical condition?

"Why didn't you tell us?" Roman asked, unable to keep hurt from creeping into his voice.

"I didn't want you to know," Seth said. " I didn't want anybody to know."

Roman stood up from his chair, stepped toward the bed, and kneeled in front of Seth in order to be able to look his little brother in the eye. "I'm glad you told us. You're not alone anymore. I'm going to get you some help."

Seth nodded, whether in assent or acknowledgement Roman wasn't sure, and Roman walked into the hallway to make a phone call.

xxx

"I didn't think you would come," Seth said as Roman closed the door behind him.

"Of course I would come. You're my brother," Dean answered.

Seth shook his head. "Not anymore. Not after everything I've done."

"You don't get to decide that," Dean said fiercely. "You're my brother and that's all there is to it."

"I don't deserve it," Seth said softly.

"Life's never been about what you deserve."

The two sat in silence until Roman returned. "Dr. Amann is on his way," he explained. "He's going to help you get the help you need."

Seth nodded.

"Maybe you should pack up so you'll be ready to leave when he gets here?" Roman suggested.

Seth nodded again and walked over the the closet and pulled out his bag. Placing the bag on the bed, he unzipped it, pulled out a pair of socks and a pair of shoes, and carefully placed two of the medicine bottles inside a smaller zippered bag. He then re-zipped the bag and stooped to put on his shoes and socks.

"That's all you need to do?" Dean asked doubtfully.

"I didn't want to leave a mess."

Dean shook his head at his brother's messed-up logic. Several minutes later they all heard a knock on the door. Seth stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and answered the door, Dean and Roman hovering protectively behind him. They watched as Seth followed Dr. Amann down the hall and disappeared into the elevator. Then they closed the door to Room 329 and made their way wordlessly back to their own room, each lost in his own thoughts.


End file.
